I wrote this fic out of pure desperation after watching the end of the movie and feeling so completely depressed that Curt and Brian didn't end up together. But then I figured it's not possible for two people that love each other so much never ever see each other again, so I created this to show what might happened when they met each other. Takes places a bit after Velvet Goldmine. Cheers!

Disclaimer: unfortunately, I don't own these characters, they're from Velvet Goldmine

Angel

Chapter one: Curt

The man in the corner of the bar downed his drink in one hasty gulp and gazed into the empty glass. His blond hair hung loose like dead spider legs and he shook the mane half-heartedly. Lying crumbled on the table with a ring of perspiration at the center was a ticket to the Tommy Stone concert that would be ending in minutes. He checked his watch and realized he only had a few moments before the crowds swarmed this place, buzzing with excitement and that one name would be ringing in the air, that name that was acid to his ears.

Tommy Stone, Tommy Stone, Tommy Stone...

…Angel…

He would have to leave soon if he wanted to escape the onslaught of fans who carelessly repeated that name as though it was candy and having no idea who the hell they were really talking about. Lost in a lie. But he didn't want to leave before he got his money's worth out of his drink, which it was currently failing to do. It was water, flavored with bitter memories of the past.

Stop thinking about it. About...

Him.

It's all past. History. The curves of your lips rewrite...Fuck. What the hell was in this drink? Try to get a grip. No, in fact, don't try, DO IT. You're cool, calm, and collective. You're the rock star Curt Wild. You're in a musky bar that you stalked out earlier because you knew you wouldn't be able to make it through the whole concert without a strong retreat. Get a grip! It's not a sunny, clear day, you're not at the beach, you don't feel the waves tickling your toes. And you're definitely not looking into Brian's eyes, those startling blue eyes that were always so easy to get lost in. He isn't pinning that amazing sparkling ornament on to your open shirt and whispering, "Curt, a man's life is his image". You weren't telling him you love him and bringing him into a rough kiss which he isn't eagerly responding to. And now you're not lifting him in your arms as one would cradle a child and carrying him into the sparkling water. He isn't laughing and protesting and squirming, trying to get loose, screaming something about his hair. You haven't got in deep enough so the waves are licking your waist and he hasn't finally stopped his little rebellion and isn't asking you to at least keep his shirt dry. You are not responding that for what you plan, he won't need his shirt anyway.

Curt ran his hands through his hair though couldn't help smiling at the recollection. But his smile faded when he realized what memory was surfacing next. That memory that never strayed far from his mind, no matter how hard he tried to beat it into submission. …There's nothing in my brain, but some ugly memory, kiss me like the ocean breeze… That memory that had haunted him for years later, that at times had driven him to the point of insanity and left him cold and empty and numb. There's nothing left alive, but some dark glassy eyes, erase my feelin's one more time…

Why had he lashed out so like a wounded animal that in its blinding pain suddenly panics and snaps back with everything its has left. He felt his eyes go out of focus and the memory replace them. If the purpose of this drink was to escape reality, he thought, then perhaps it was doing a good job.

"Jerry's not going to extend your contract."

Disbelief, even though he knew it would come to this, but it hurt so bad to hear Brian say it. They had been walking tight circles around this point for quite a while, and Brian had finally said the inevitable, and the unthinkable.

"What?" Then anger. "What does he expect me to do? Hang around like some groupie and not make any music of my own! He can't do that."

"He can," the beautiful blues looked icy in contrast to the mascara. "He will. And I think you know why."

"What? What is that supposed to mean!" Brian's eyes clouded a bit and he looked away. "What does--Bri, Brian!" those eyes snapped back, surprised by the use of his full name. "Look at me, what does that mean? What happened to 'smashing' 'tops'!" Curt couldn't remember the other word's Brian had used, in fact he was surprised he had remembered those, but he figured they were enough to prove his point. Brian suddenly softened and came close to Curt, so they were almost touching, and began running his fingers up and down Curt's arms. He looked into Curt's eyes with such intensity, but Curt noticed something different about them, something distorted, as though Brian's body was suddenly very far away but his eyes remained, masked in thick mascara.

"No, Curt, you're not understanding me. I love your music, your voice, your guitar..." he trailed off. "But we're big now. We have to give the fans certain--" He stopped when Curt ripped Brian's hand off his arm and took a few steps back, a look of horror on his face. And rage, great rage, like a phoenix rising from the ashes of twisted agony.

"Oh fuck you," he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief and then started screaming, "Fuck you! Can you hear yourself! Fans? Fans! When have you worried about giving the people exactly what they want? I thought we were supposed to defy standards; they love us because we are not what everyone else, because we follow our own rules! I thought we were supposed to be a revolution, supposed to change the world, and you are giving in to fans." Curt took a few steps and it seemed he might calm down but the he swung back, a sudden look of pain on his face liked a dog kicked by someone he thought he could trust and hollered, "I feel like I don't know you anymore! Do you remember what you said? We plan on taking over the world." Curt suddenly felt sobs racking his chest, though not a tear fell. He grabbed Brian and kissed his neck, breathing in his soft scent. "Let's get away, Bri. We can continue to be who we want, we don't need Jerry. We can...we can..." he made to kiss Brian's lips but this time it was Brian who stepped away.

"I can't, Curt. You know that. I need Jerry. The Maxwell Demon needs Jerry." Curt looked up and saw that same distant look in Brian's eyes. He couldn't believe it. What was this? Where was the Brian he knew?

With a venomous rage Curt screamed, "Fine!" like a frustrated child and made to storm out the door. He had reached the door frame and then was struck by a sudden thought that years later he wished he had never, ever been struck with.

"Who," he said with a whisper shaking with hurt, "are you, Brian Slade or the Maxwell Demon?" Brian stood there, startled, like a criminal caught in the act, feeling the pain slowly seep in and like two gaping wounds on his fragile young features his eyes bled tears. Curt whipped out the door and stormed into the street, burning with rage, confusion, and also this deep guilt that had not quite disappeared even to this day. And then those words, awful words, came down hard grinding the pain even deeper still. "Piss off, then! Go on! Back to your wolves! Your junkie twerps! Your bloody shock treatment! And fuck you too!"

How was he supposed to know that when he got in that car he would never see his lover again? Sure, he would see Brian's many disguises, the Maxwell Demon, Tommy Stone, but it wasn't the same. He had waited outside the car, hoping Brian would come running out saying he was sorry, saying he still loved him. But when he looked up towards the window with hopeful eyes, the Maxwell Demon shut the curtain against him. Curt tossed his cigarette into the lawn as though the house might catch fire and burn the Demon out, but it was not to be. That was just a stupid music video, and Demon was there to stay. Could he count those lonely nights he prowled the streets on the smallest hope that he might spot Brian? Could he count the times he had broke down sobbing even in the middle of recording sessions with Jack Fairy? At least Jack had been patient and gave Curt his space and time to recover. Curt silently wondered how Brian released his tears, knowing full well Jerry wouldn't stand for something like an emotional breakdown in the middle of a cut. He silently wondered if Brian cried at all. And as always, time had gone on. Curt eventually replaced the tears for cigarettes, replaced the cigarettes for alcohol. The pain had never really died, just taking different shapes. He wondered now if it ever would go away.

Curt looked up from his sorrow. The young fans began piling in, and the name Tommy stabbed his ears. Shit, he had to get out of here. He clambered as quickly as he could to his feet only to trip over his chair and crash to the floor. So, maybe the drink did do something. He saw a hand hovering above it and grabbed it to right himself.

"Thanks-" Curt stopped ad saw a pair of startling blue eyes staring back at him in equal disbelief.

Thanks for reading my first chapter! You don't know how much I appreciate it. The next chapter will be coming up in two shakes of a lamb's tail. Review for me, and I'll review for you!